


Joy, O’erborne and Bound

by TheGreenMeridian



Series: Battles [2]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Don’t copy to another site, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:28:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21579913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreenMeridian/pseuds/TheGreenMeridian
Summary: As the early troubles of the Expedition begin to weigh on them, Collins and Goodsir find peace in each other.For Terror Bingo.
Relationships: Henry Collins/Harry D. S. Goodsir
Series: Battles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1555234
Comments: 20
Kudos: 73
Collections: The Terror Bingo (2019)





	Joy, O’erborne and Bound

**Author's Note:**

> Another Terror Bingo fill, and a continuation of my previous work with these two.
> 
> This is for the square ‘weariness’.

> They talk of short-lived pleasure—be it so—  
>  Pain dies as quickly: stern, hard-featured pain  
>  Expires, and lets her weary prisoner go.  
>  The fiercest agonies have shortest reign;  
>  And after dreams of horror, comes again  
>  The welcome morning with its rays of peace.  
>  Oblivion, softly wiping out the stain,  
>  Makes the strong secret pangs of shame to cease:  
>  Remorse is virtue’s root; its fair increase  
>  Are fruits of innocence and blessedness:  
>  Thus joy, o’erborne and bound, doth still release  
>  His young limbs from the chains that round him press.  
>  Weep not that the world changes—did it keep  
>  A stable changeless state, ’twere cause indeed to weep.
> 
> Sonnet— Mutation, William Cullen Bryant

* * *

Sleep had become increasingly hard to come by for Harry. A combination of the arctic’s strange hours and his own troubled mind had left him laying awake for longer than he’d like most evenings, and he soon realised that letting his thoughts run rampant without distraction only made the situation worse. Instead, he’d taken to staying in the sick bay for a extra hour or two, working on his naturalism journals alone and giving his active mind something more pleasant to dwell on than guilt and death. That life could flourish even here in these frozen waters gave him a hope for their survival and success that he had found himself sorely lacking since the disquieting episode with poor David Young. The warm lamplight helped too, and the medicinal smell inherent to the sick bay reminded him of better times, of the joy education and discovery, of lively debates, of dear Edinburgh. Yes, he was far more at ease there than in his cabin, even with Young’s ever present ghost silently watching him.

He’d been working for almost half an hour since Dr Stanley had tutted at him and left for his cabin when someone knocked on the door. It wasn’t entirely unusual to have patients after hours but they were usually of an urgent nature, and the knock had been quiet, almost hesitant. Intrigued, he rose to his feet and opened the door, only to find himself faced with a man who had been the source of much of his sleeplessness.

“Mr Collins? Is there something wrong?” Harry asked. His heartbeat had quickened, and he knew that too long spent alone in Collins’ company would only make his problem worse. But the man had come seeking medical care, and he was duty bound to provide it to the best of his ability regardless of how his deviancy may affect him.

He was not the only one struggling to maintain composure, though he hoped he was concealing his own better than Henry. The man was hunched, avoiding his eye and looking rather like he’d walked into a den of lions.

“Is Dr Stanley here sir?” Henry said, peering behind Harry into the empty room.

“I’m afraid he’s already gone for the night,” Harry said. He stepped back to allow Henry to enter and tried to school his face into something resembling professionalism. “But perhaps I can help. What’s troubling you?”

“I can’t sleep, sir. I was hoping you might have a tonic for me.”

“Ah. Well, such things can be... problematic.” He’d seen how people could be ravaged by the use of laudanum in his training, and had never felt confident prescribing it for all but those with the most severe need. But Henry’s face had fallen at his words, and the sight was painful to see. “Though perhaps we can come up with a solution, hm? Tell me, how long have you had this problem?”

He gestured to a chair and Henry sank into it. There was a series of sharp pops as he stretched his neck from side to side, and he gave a grunt of satisfaction that turned into a half-stifled yawn. 

“I’ve had problems most of my life, on and off, but it’s been worse since... well, it’s been bad for about a week sir.”

“Since when, Mr Collins? It may help to talk about it, if you feel able to share.”

Harry smiled at him, and waited patiently for Henry to weigh the suggestion. He shifted in his seat under Harry’s gaze, and Harry couldn’t help but note the obvious signs of fatigue. The dark circles under his eyes and the slight husky quality to his voice certainly indicated a prolonged problem, and his fingernails had been bitten down to the quick, with some signs of repeated trauma evident around the edges.

“I’d rather just have the tonic sir,” Henry said eventually. 

Harry opened his mouth to begin expounding on the exact dangers of laudanum, before closing it again. A lecture wouldn’t solve the man’s problems, and though that likely would have been Dr Stanley’s choice of treatment, it would likely be more productive to treat the man with kindness.

“Whatever it is, it won’t leave this room. You have my word,” he said softly, imploringly.

It seemed the right course of action, for Henry soon exhaled and sank in his chair.

“I... I saw Orren, sir. Down in the water,” Henry said in a voice far smaller than his physical nature would suggest him capable of producing. “He was coming towards me, I could swear it. I can’t get it out of my mind and every time I close my eyes, he’s there, looking at me with dead eyes.”

Memories of sprang to Harry’s mind, of a dying boy screaming about a vision only he could see. It had haunted his mind at night and made sleep seem impossible, and nightmares had featured the boy’s emaciated corpse standing over him and pleading with him to listen.

“I understand how traumatic such a thing must have been, Mr Collins. I am so sorry you had to go through it, and that you’ve been battling it alone as you have.”

Henry looked up at that and fixed him with a pleading gaze. “You don’t think I’m mad, sir? Nor weak?”

“No, Mr Collins,” Harry said gently, “I don’t.”

With a deep exhale, a little of the tension in Henry’s body seemed to ebb. He ran a hand through his thick hair, and Harry felt his fingers twitch with the need to experience it for himself. Henry was so close to him, and despite his being fully clothed the temptation to touch him was even stronger now than it had been when Henry had been half naked after his ordeal in the water. Henry looked so fragile, so broken, that Harry wished for nothing more than to pull him into an embrace and soothe him with tender touch, and whisper kindness to him in the hopes of alleviating some of his pain.

“It’s not just that though, sir. It’s... I’ve never been able to sleep well. Sometimes it feels like I can’t shut my thoughts off, and others, it’s like I can’t think of anything at all. Like I’m... numb. Empty.”

“Have you ever spoken to anyone about this?” Harry asked gently.

Henry shook his head and looked down at his lap. He was picking at a fingernail, attempting to pull away what little excess still remained on his index finger. 

“I’m just so damn tired, Mr Goodsir,” Henry said, his voice holding a slight tremble. “Even when I do sleep, I wake up exhausted.”

It was a torment with which Harry could sympathise, given the turbulent nature of his dreams. Whether good or bad, they tended to be vivid and he would wake up with a pounding heart and gasping breaths.

“I’ve been struggling with sleep myself of late. I was with David Young when he died. It wasn’t... peaceful. The memory of it has been troubling me.”

“Have you found something that works? Sir?”

Again, that pleading look was in Henry’s eyes, a horrible desperation that broke Harry’s heart. “In a way. When you came, I was working on my journals of the species we’ve encountered and the natural landscape. It doesn’t send me to sleep, I’m afraid, but it takes my mind off things.”

“Oh.”

He seemed so dejected, so hopeless that without a thought, Harry reached out and covered Henry’s hand with his own. The small, simple gesture of human warmth had a transformative effect on him, the tension visibly lessening in his limbs and his furrowed brow.

“You know... it can help to talk, when you’re struggling. I’ll gladly lend an ear if you require it of me,” Harry offered.

For a moment, Henry said nothing, though he looked down at where their hands touched. “Sometimes I wonder if something didn’t break in me when I was young, Mr Goodsir.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I’ve been tired my whole life, sir. Not physically but in my heart. Sometimes I’m truly miserable, but most of the time I’m just... tired. And alone, too. No matter how many are around me.”

Harry gave Henry’s hand a squeeze and began stroking his thumb in slow, rhythmic motions designed to soothe across the patch of hair that reached beyond Henry’s sleeve and onto the back of his hand. The pain in Henry’s voice was awful to hear, and Harry felt inept in the face of it. Medical science had progressed far, illness was more understood than it had ever been, and yet man still could not cure the sort of sickness that had Henry in it’s grip. 

“Have you ever felt like that sir?” Henry asked quietly. “I often think I must be the only one.”

“Sometimes,” Harry said honestly. “I know I appear to all the world as an optimistic fool, but I have my own struggles. I wish I had a solution for you, Henry. But know that I’ll listen to you and be here for you, as best I can. You need not face this alone, you know.”

The slip of using of Henry’s Christian name was not commented on, to Harry’s relief, though he saw a slight twitch in Henry’s jaw and felt a similar movement in his hand. Though perhaps it was correct to call him as such in this moment. To treat him as a man, a person, and not as a crewman and shipmate.

“Could you tell me, sir? Of your troubles?” Henry asked. “I don’t mean to pry, but you said you feel this way too and I should like to know why, if you’d allow it.”

Harry hesitated. “It wouldn’t be professional, I don’t think. And besides, you need not worry about me. Focus on your needs, Henry. Don’t go offering to take on my burdens too.

“I don’t need a doctor, sir, I need a friend. Please. Perhaps we can help each other, in knowing that we’re not alone.”

“I’m not a doctor,” Harry said with a weak smile and a blush gathering on his cheeks, “but I understand what you mean. Truthfully, I could use a friend too. You are kind to offer such a thing.”

There was no hiding the gasp he made when Henry turned over his hand to clasp their fingers together. He was acutely aware of how much thicker Henry’s fingers were than his own, and the warmth of his palm was searing. Henry’s lips opened slightly at the sound, looking suddenly full and almost pouting to Harry’s far from unbiased eye, and the awareness of how dangerous a true friendship with Henry could be reared in his mind with ferocity.

“Could I... call you Harry?” Henry asked. “I’d like that, I think.”

“Yes. That would be acceptable,” Harry croaked. 

They sat for a while, simply holding hands and listening to each other’s breathing. Harry could feel sweat beading on the back of his neck and the low thrum of desire for an acquaintance far deeper than friendship pulsed in his veins. Henry had come to him seeking kindness and help, and his reaction was nothing short of disgraceful. And yet stronger than shame, stronger than fear, was the melancholy that had forever lurked in the depths of his mind since he had realised that he was unable to do right by a wife. The celibacy was difficult, as it could be for any man, but it was the longing for love, for comfort, for what he was experiencing now, simply by holding Henry’s hand. He looked at where they were joined. So different, their hands. His with slim fingers and neat nails, and Henry’s so obviously those of a man who worked hard and often. Slowly, his eyes followed up the line of Henry’s arm until they were gazing at each other. Something snapped within him, an almost physical sensation of a carefully constructed wall collapsing into dust.

“I... I feel alone too, Henry. Very much so.”

“You do?” Henry asked.

“I... struggle with myself. With what I am.”

It was Henry’s turn to squeeze his hand now, and the tenderness of the gesture brought tears to Harry’s eyes. Not since his mother had someone provided him with such comfort, simple as it was.

“I’ve done things God wouldn’t look kindly upon,” Henry said slowly, carefully. “Melancholy isn’t... well, it’s not the only sickness I carry. Is that... is that the sort of thing you mean, Harry?”

“Yes,” Harry whispered. To voice it aloud for the first time was both terrifying and freeing. There was still a part of him that expected Henry to recoil in disgust, to drag him to Sir John and reveal him for what he was. 

But Henry simply looked at him, looked at their hands. “You’re... like me? Truly?”

Harry nodded. With a trembling hand, Henry reached out to cup his jaw, his eyes widening as it settled against Harry’s whiskers. He looked stunned, as though he’d not expected to be allowed such a liberty. 

“I’ve known it all my life,” Harry said thickly. “I tried to change, but I imagine you know how futile the endeavour was. I’ve not acted on it, though. I have tried to live a good life, to develop other ways to find joy in life, but... I’m so lonely, Henry. I’ve never told anyone who I truly am. It’s excruciating, really, to be alone for a lifetime.”

He had not meant to bare his soul so completely but the relief that came with another knowing his secret opened the floodgates within his heart and once he had started, it had seemed unbearable to stop. And throughout the entire monologue, Henry’s warm palm had remained on his cheek, and not a hint of judgement had appeared on his face. 

“I’m sorry, Henry. I don’t suppose you needed to know all that. You came here seeking help for your troubles and here I am telling you all of mine, instead.” 

The tremor in Harry’s voice betrayed how close to weeping he felt, and the shame of it left him unable to remain meeting Henry’s gaze. He let his eyes fall closed when Henry’s thumb brushed along the join between the skin of his cheek and his whiskers, and kept them closed as Henry’s other hand gently brushed back the curls that had fallen on his brow.

“I had hoped... I look at you, Harry. When I get the chance. And- and I watch how you talk to the men, how excited you get about your specimens, how kind you were to Tom Hartnell when his brother died.” There was warm breath on Harry’s cheek for a moment before Henry kissed him there, lingering against him for a moment before inhaling deeply and moving away. “You need not be alone, Harry.”

Harry leaned into the hand still caressing his cheek, lost in the tenderness of the action. “Henry, if we were to be caught-“

“I don’t care anymore. I’m so tired of being alone, Harry. I can’t stand it. Please. If you were anyone else I- Christ, Harry, I’ve wanted you since we met.”

There were so many reasons to walk away and retreat to the safety of his cabin, so many terrible potential consequences for giving in, but he suddenly found that none of it mattered. Not with Henry sitting before him and wanting simply to be loved by him. And so he did the only thing that made sense. He stood, pulling Henry up with him, and pressed his lips to Henry’s own. It took mere moments for Henry to respond, wrapping his arms around Harry and pulling him close and pushing his lips apart with his tongue. He could feel Henry’s blunt fingers digging into his shoulder, into his hip, perhaps firmly enough to leave marks. The thought had him near bursting with joy. How wonderful it would be to be marked as Henry’s, to spend the following day sporting evidence of the kiss imprinted on his skin, a shared secret to remind him of what it felt like to be held.

“I’ve wanted you too, Henry,” he murmured against Henry’s lips. “Sometimes I can hardly think of anything else. I’ve never felt anything quite like it.”

Henry inhaled shakily and rested against Harry’s forehead. “I’m not used to this. The emotions, that is. I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Neither do I. At all, really. But perhaps we can learn together.”

When he pulled back, Henry’s rich dark eyes were wet with unshed tears. Gently, Harry brushed his thumb across Henry’s full lower lip and mapped the feel of it. Henry took another shuddering breath and kissed Harry’s thumb as a tear escaped to trickle down his cheek, disappearing into the thick thatch of hair on his jaw.

“Sorry. Sorry, Christ, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I want this, honestly. I’m just...”

“Overwhelmed?” Harry offered. Henry nodded, and a small, thankful smile brightened his expression a tad. “I’m feeling quite shaken myself. You are so beautiful, Henry. Your looks and your heart. I’ve been trying not to desire you for so long. Now that I have you, I can’t quite wrap my mind around it.”

Harry kissed away the wetness that remained on Henry’s cheek, and kissed the other before pressing their lips together again. Even as his heart raced with the unfamiliarity of it, he felt as though he was home. Strong arms held him close, and every inch of him ached to feel more of Henry’s warmth. Nothing else seemed to matter in that moment but the two of them, and how desperately he wanted to heal Henry’s heart.

The tip of Henry’s tongue flicked against his lip, and Harry gladly reached out his own to meet it, enjoying the new sensations too much to be overly concerned about his lack of skill. Henry’s tongue slid along side his own, teased at his palate, and pulled back as if inviting Harry’s own to follow only for Henry to suck the tip of it between his lips. The feel of it was like nothing Harry had ever experienced, sending prickles across his body as he began to crave more. His skin ached with it, the barrier of clothing between them so unwanted he could practically cry with frustration at being unable to feel Henry as he truly desired. Henry’s hand tangled in his hair and tugged at his curls, the hint of pain shockingly arousing. He couldn’t keep his own hands still, in turn gripping at Henry’s back, his waist, his wild hair. Repressed need burned in his blood, and he could hardly stay standing when Henry’s hand slid down the length of his spine to grasp and knead at his buttocks, pushing him against an unmistakable hardness in Henry’s trousers. His own prick was erect and leaking steadily into his smallclothes, his breath was coming in harsh pants, his entire body seemed to scream for more. It was both unbearable and the most intensely wonderful he had ever felt.

“Oh please, Henry, I- I need...” he gasped desperately as Henry’s lips moved to his neck, shuddering as Henry dragged his teeth over his pulse and up to his ear.

“Anything, Harry. Anything.”

Before Harry could process it, Henry had slid to his knees and begun unbuttoning the placket of his trousers. Harry could hardly believe his eyes. Even in fantasy, he’d never dared imagine...

“Henry, Henry wait,” he panted. “I can’t... I can’t ask you to do such a thing.”

“I think you might have heard some wrongheaded ideas about what men do with each other,” Henry said as he began to palm Harry through the fabric. “There’s no shame in it, you know. I want to do this. I... enjoy it.”

“Oh,” Harry said weakly.

Henry looked up at him with a smile that was far too sweet given the act he was about to perform, and pulled Harry’s prick from his clothing. A blush rose quickly on Harry’s cheeks, unused as he was to being seen in such a state, and it deepened further at the whimper that was produced as Henry grasped him with a strong, work-roughened hand.

“You’re lovely, Harry,” Henry said as he held it, stroking it slowly and watching intently the slide of Harry’s foreskin. “So lovely, all of you.”

It was only the hand he had hastily brought to his mouth that prevented Harry from alerting the entire ship to their behaviour as Henry’s mouth descended on him. It was unlike the feel of bringing himself off with his hand, unlike anything he ever could have imagined his body capable of feeling, and it was sheer heaven. Henry’s mouth was warm and wet, the tongue that had kissed him so thoroughly was pressed against the sensitive frenulum, and with every bob of his head Henry was sucking him deeper and deeper. Unable to think, barely able to breath, Harry took Henry’s head in his hand and gripped his hair as he felt himself race to completion. A distant thought of decency echoed in his mind just loudly enough to make him try and pull Henry away, but Henry only quickened his mouth and moaned around his prize as Harry tugged on his hair. With a muffled cry, Harry’s hips surged forward and the swell of pressure that had built so quickly burst forth, and he spent in several hard pulses into Henry’s mouth, his legs trembling with the effort of staying upright. Still Henry’s head moved, drinking down every last drop of him and lapping at his slit until the sensation became so much that Harry began to sink to his knees under the strain of it.

Carefully, Henry held his hips and guided him to the floor until he lay, quite defeated, with Henry’s thick body cradled between his thighs and Henry’s beautiful dark eyes staring down at him in awe.

“I... oh goodness, that was... Henry...” he mumbled weakly. “I’m sorry, I should have-“

“Don’t be. I... I wanted it like that. May I kiss you, Harry? I’d very much like to kiss you right now.”

Harry nodded and Henry lowered himself to capture Henry’s lips once more. It didn’t occur to Harry not to seek Henry’s tongue, having become quite addicted to the feel of it, so it was a shock when he tasted himself there, bitter and unfamiliar. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant taste but the stark reminder of where Henry’s mouth had just been and the indisputable evidence of the debauchery he had just taken part in was a thrill like no other and in the haze of his orgasm, it seemed only natural to pull him closer, to kiss him more deeply and savour the remnants of his own pleasure.

It was Henry who broke for air first, looking down at him with flushed cheeks and a smile that warmed Harry’s heart to see. He tightened his legs around Henry’s waist and inhaled sharply at the feel of Henry’s obvious and undiminished arousal against him. 

“Oh... Henry, you’re still... do you want me to do anything for you?” Harry asked as he brushed his fingertips across Henry’s cheek. “I... I would like to please you, if I can.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’ve... thought of it. More than I should have, and despite my best efforts. I can’t say I know what to do but I would very much like to try, if you’ll allow me.”

Henry blushed at that, despite how brazenly he had just pleasured Harry with his mouth. “You’ve thought about it?”

“I... when you’d been in the water, Dr Stanley had you strip down so that we could examine you. You were beautiful. Stunning. I... well, I lost control of myself. And I never quite managed to regain it.”

“God, Harry, you can’t say such things,” Henry said with a moan, his face growing ever more flushed.

Emboldened and still beaming with enough joy to drown out any insecurity or fear, Harry slipped his hand between them and pressed it to Henry’s length. Even through his trousers, it was obvious that the rumours of his endowment had truth to them, and Harry felt his own prick begin to fill again in excitement. Henry shuddered as Harry squeezed and caressed him, biting his lip and breathing heavily through his nose.

“Can I get it out? Please Harry, I want to feel your hand.”

Harry nodded and propped up on his elbows to watch as Henry sat back and freed himself. His prick sprang free as soon as it had enough space to do so, thick and long, glistening in the lamp light. Henry pushed his trousers down further to reveal plump testicles thick with hair, and the tops of his gloriously powerful thighs. 

“Oh Henry... you’re... I’d heard the gossip of course but... my god.”

Before he knew what he was doing, his fingers had encircled Harry’s girth. It truly was impressive, both from a scientific standpoint and from the standpoint of a man who was fast learning he had an intense interest in the size of another man’s member that went far beyond intellectual curiosity. He squeezed it, feeling it’s solidity, and Henry thrust forward into his grip with a quiet groan.

“I’d thought of your hands. I’ve watched how nimble your fingers are and how lovely they look,” Henry said as his eyes slipped closed. “Please, Harry, I need... I’m so...”

“Shh, let me take care of you my darling,” Harry said softly.

It was so unlike his own. Not just in size, the angle of holding it was alien and he could feel it’s warmth and the steady pulse of blood in the vein beneath his thumb. Henry’s pulse was elevated, matching the pants of his breath. Slowly, Harry pulled back his foreskin and bared the finely shaped head, watching as a trickle of fluid burst forth from it’s tip and ran down the length of Henry’s prick until it wet his hand. Henry groaned and fell forward, thrusting into Harry’s fist.

“When I... when I lost control after seeing you stripped almost bare, I wondered how it would feel to hold you like this. If perhaps the rumours would be true. I had rather hoped they would be.”

Henry shuddered as Harry let go without warning and looked as though he was going to swoon away. “Oh... oh Harry, please, I can’t wait much longer. Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t, darling, I won’t. It’s just that... well, my arm hurts, could we...?”

With some awkward shuffling, they rearranged themselves so that Henry lay on his back and Harry was straddling one of his trunk-like thighs, relishing feel of firm muscle beneath his buttocks. Again he reached for Henry’s prick and at the first touch, Henry writhed beneath him.

“What... what else did you think of?” Henry panted. “Tell me, Harry.”

With his own prick now hard and jutting from his open trousers, it did not take much work for Harry to conjure up the fantasy that had brought him to such a powerful high when he had first given in to his desire.

“I thought of you naked,” he said softly, beginning to stroke himself slowly in time with the teasing treatment of Henry. “Your chest is magnificent, truly. I wanted to feel you atop me. And your thighs... so strong, so masculine.

His eyes had begun to close of their own accord and he wrenched them open again to gaze down at his lover, fighting uselessly to buck into Harry’s grasp despite his leg being pinned as it was beneath Harry’s arse. The darker skin of his prick looked so handsome against the pale skin of Harry’s hand, and the forest of hair around it was a mere hint of how the rest of his body was similarly adorned.

“I... I hope you don’t think less of me for it but I imagined you... taking me,” Harry whispered.

Henry moaned at that, the sound catching in his throat as he fought to suppress it and his prick pulsing in Harry’s hand. “Never. Never, Harry, I could never think less of you. I’ve wanted it too, so badly. I could make it so good for you. Next time... next time, I’ll have you, I promise. I’ll show you how amazing it can feel.”

Until then, Harry hadn’t even thought of a next time. He’d barely been able to think more than a second or two ahead, so lost in the moment had he been. But he realised as Henry said it that an anxiety had been building nonetheless that Henry would have his pleasure and never return to him. He quickened the pace for both of them, feeling a second eruption building inside him rapidly, and given the little pants and whines escaping Henry’s lips, he too was growing close to release.

“I think I should like to taste you, too,” he said through shallow breaths. “All of you, every inch.”

“Y-yes, I’m so close, Harry. So good, fuck, please don’t stop.”

“I want to see you. I’ve thought of how pleasure would show on your face. You are so beautiful, my Henry.”

“Fuck, handkerchief, quickly... can’t hold back...”

Harry stopped stroking himself to pull the thing from his pocket, barely managing to get it over Henry’s prick as he began to seize and arch up from the floor, pulsing heavily in Harry’s hand and groaning through gritted teeth. Harry could feel it soaking through the thin fabric, hot against his fingers as he stroked Henry through it. With a needy whine, he quickly pushed it against his own prick, Henry’s seed hot and wet against his head. It took mere seconds of pulling at himself until he too spilled violently into the ruined handkerchief, quivering and barely able to stop himself from collapsing to Henry’s chest. As soon as he weakly tossed the cloth away from them, Henry pulled him down anyway and held him tight to his body.

“You’re amazing, Harry,” Henry said fiercely as he buried his nose into Harry’s hair.

Harry made a noise of agreement against Henry’s chest, muffled by clothing but too exhausted to find much to say anyway. He could feel their damp, softening pricks pushed together, that small bit of skin-to-skin contact not nearly enough for his liking. How much nicer it would have been to be naked together, to share this moment with no barriers between them beyond body hair. A chilled stream of air, a draft from some unnoticed spot in need of fresh caulking, blew across his bare buttocks and made him shiver. With uncooperative limbs, he rolled off Henry and pulled his trousers up as best he could, wincing at the remaining stickiness while quietly thrilled at the knowledge that it was not just of his own making. Henry made to do the same and Harry waited patiently until he was done before slinging an arm over Henry’s shoulder and pulling him to rest against his side, his head sitting comfortably on Harry’s chest and one of his legs draped over Harry’s legs.

“We’ll have to get up soon, before you’re missed,” Harry said quietly.

“I know. I wish we didn’t have to. I feel more at peace now than I ever have. Will I be able to see you again, like this?”

Harry sighed and lifted Henry’s hand from his stomach to kiss the knuckles. “It’s dangerous, Henry. You know it is. We’ll be hanged if we’re found out.”

“I know. I know, but... I want to be with you anyway. There’s something between us Harry, I feel it. I want to go on feeling it, with you. I don’t want to go back to watching you smile and wishing I had been the one to make it happen.”

“I feel it too, Henry. I’m just afraid. Should anything happen to you because of me... I couldn’t live with myself. I won’t see harm come to you. Nothing would be worth that.”

Henry propped himself up and gazed down at him with a solemn expression. “You’d be worth it, Harry.”

There was such sincerity in his voice, such determination, that Harry could scarcely believe it to be true. He could not understand how he had inspired such devotion nor be considered worthy of such a risk. Yet as he looked back at Henry, he knew he was utterly incapable of denying him anything. If Henry truly believed what he was saying, if being together would bring Henry even an ounce of the joy Harry himself would feel, then Harry must give it to him.

“It will be difficult, we’ll need to think of how best to go about things,” he said, taking Henry’s hand and kissing his knuckles. “We shouldn’t rush into doing this again, not until we’re certain we’ll be as safe as possible.”

Henry smiled tentatively at him. “You would have me, then?”

There were many things Harry could have said in that moment. That seeing Henry smile was worth any price. That being held by him had been the first true moment of peace in his life, comparable only to holding him in return. Or that he could never face returning to the life he had once known now that he knew how it felt to bring pleasure to another.

But instead, he pulled Henry down into a kiss, one possessing far more depth of meaning than he would ever be able to create with mere words, and allowed himself the pleasure of feeling Henry melt into him one final time before they would have to say goodbye for the evening.

**Author's Note:**

> thegreenmeridian@tumblr.com


End file.
